“They are in the cells on the next floor, Your Highness,” a gray-haired guard informed her. “The rest of the prisoners on that floor were moved to keep them isolated.”
Ignoring the way her fingers shook as she gathered her skirts, Carys turned and climbed the stairs. The rotting smell grew stronger the higher she climbed and even worse when she took a lit torch from the staircase and started down the hallway next to the cells. Each cell had a thick wooden door with a window made of iron bars. The first two cells were empty, but a face looked back at her when she peered into the third.
“Your Highness,” the man said as he stood and walked toward the door. In the light of the torch, Carys saw the man who spoke for the other men at the castle’s entrance looking back. “Your father would not want you to be here.”
“There is much my father didn’t want that has happened today,” she answered. “I wish to know why.”
“I told you why.”
Not all of it. Because she’d seen her father up close, and when the initial shock faded, she had seen clearly what had killed the King.
“We both know you lied,” she whispered.
“I did not lie, Your Highness.” The King’s Guardsman pressed his face close to the bars. “There was an ambush.”
“The King and Crown Prince always travel in the center of the King’s Guard.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And that’s where they were when the ambush came?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“If my father was surrounded by his Guard, how is it that he never had a chance to grab his sword and was run through from behind?”
The first was a guess. The second was less of one. The damage to the leather tunic and the bloodstained tear in the back of his cloak were evidence enough of her theory. But it took the man flinching behind the bars of his cell to confirm fully that it was true.
Her father had been attacked in the center of men who were supposed to defend him. The only explanation for him not drawing his weapon and fighting off the enemy was that the attack came from directly behind. From his own men.
“Why?” she whispered.
The man glanced in the direction of the rustling coming from the cells down the hall. “Your Highness, you don’t want people to know you were here.”
“What people?” The sound of boots against stone echoed in the hallway. Someone was coming. Carys stepped closer to the cell door, gripped the torch tight in her hand, and hissed, “I will help you escape. If you tell me the truth, I will give you your life. I will find a way to get you and the others out of here.”
She had no idea how, but that was less important than learning if there was someone else behind her father’s and brother’s deaths. If the rest of her family might be threatened. If she could be in danger.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the freckle-faced guard emerge from the staircase. “Captain Monteros is on his way, Your Highness. He will be expecting to find you waiting downstairs.”
“Then that is where he will find me,” she said, looking back at the iron-barred window. The man’s face had disappeared back into the shadows. But she’d return later.
She replaced the torch she’d taken and had reached the bottom steps moments before the door of the North Tower swung open and Captain Monteros appeared. Carys didn’t wait for his instructions. Instead, she walked toward the area the guards used for questioning prisoners and unfastened her cloak. She would not show fear. She would not cry. Her mother had told her that in order to protect her twin Carys would have to embody the virtue of strength. It was in these moments that Carys knew her mother was right.
It took strength to unfasten the back of her dress without letting the captain see her hands quiver. It took great resolve to shift the fabric to expose her back as she pressed herself up against the wall.
“Perhaps you should talk to the Queen,” Captain Monteros said from behind. “Explain that you were upset about the death of your father and brother. I’m sure she’ll reconsider this punishment.”
If only that were true. But it hadn’t been before and today would be no different. And if she tried, her mother might not listen when she explained about the King’s Guardsmen in the cells above and the truth she was certain they had yet to speak.
Carys glanced over her shoulder. While she was as tall as her brother, Captain Monteros was far taller than she. And stronger. “The sooner you begin, captain, the sooner this will be over.”
“If you are certain, Highness. The Council has determined there will be three strokes.” He picked up a wide, leather strap.
Carys laughed. “They are in a merciful mood. Do your best to be quick.”
She kept her eyes open, even though she couldn’t see anything with her face pressed against the stone. Closing them felt weak. Her legs trembled. Her stomach curled. She exhaled to loosen her muscles because it was worse when she tensed up. But she couldn’t stop herself from flinching as she heard the whistle of leather passing through the air then . . .
Pain.
She dropped the front of her dress and grabbed the handles on each side of her head to keep from collapsing as icy hot agony pulled the strength out from under her. Her heart pounded. A whimper stuck in her throat and she braced herself as the whistle of the strap came again and with it fire as it cracked across the small of her back.
Her fingers clung to the handles. She clenched her jaw, refusing to make a sound when all she wanted to do was sob from the throbbing ache.
One more. She would survive one . . .
She gasped air, lost her grip, and slid down the wall to the musty floor as tears flooded her eyes. It was over.
Not that bad, she told herself as pain flashed and flared.
“It’s over, Princess,” Captain Montoros whispered. Then he raised his voice so that anyone might hear. “Your penance is served. The seven virtues have been restored.”
Carys cursed under her breath. The virtues could be damned.
The biting wind was welcome when she stiffly stepped from the tower. Cold air on hot, shrieking skin. The pain was duller now than it had been only minutes ago. Still terrible, but bearable. It was amazing what a person could tolerate.
The freckle-faced guard appeared beside her.
“I’d like to be alone,” she said.
The young guard looked down at his boots. “Captain Monteros told me to escort you to your rooms, Your Highness.”
“Well, that’s a problem,” she said, wincing as she started forward. “Because I’m not going to my rooms.” There were two things she needed to do first.